


Man of Mystery

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [503]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Other, Spy!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 14:31:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12683802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: so @preludeinz put this in my head:  there’s an AU in which they’re the spy family and Penelope’s the international rescuer of mystery





	Man of Mystery

John’s Charlie Perkins today, mild-mannered middle-manager from a mid-sized IT company based in Topeka on his way with a bid delegation to a small conference in upstate New York.  Yesterday involved several magnums of champagne toasting the success of Edward Dover, highly successful medtech startup founder from Leeds. Edward Dover was back in his box, but unfortunately he didn’t take his hangover with him.

Charlie was John’s fifth identity in four days and even he was struggling to keep the accents straight.  The hijacking wasn’t helping.

The irritating thing was that the hijacking was nothing to do with Charlie or Edward or any of the other men John has been this week.  The hijacking was an amateurish affair, but unfortunately Charlie Perkins was set up to be  _extremely_ mild-mannered and John’s actual target, Jack McArthur, was having delusions of heroism and was currently engaging the hijackers.

Arguing with them, actually.

John would face palm if he wasn’t having to remind himself to act terrified every five seconds.  This was going to require careful handling. 

Luckily, Charlie’s middling enough to get stuck in the cheap seat on this flight, and the rows of seats give him cover enough to quietly flip open his card case and message the Island.

John’s expecting Kayo – thrilling heroics was definitely her thing, and she wouldn’t argue with a hijacker that had such a punchable face. For an elite rescue operative, Kayo did throw a lot of punches.

“They struggle less unconscious,” she’d told him in the last brief lull between disaster and their mutual rapid departures.

But Kayo must have some thrilling heroics to take care of somewhere else, because the figure that slips out of a silently removed service duct by the open door to the cockpit isn’t Kayo.

Penny’s face is hard to focus on, her helmet’s faceplate designed to stop anyone getting a clear look or, worse, a clear photo.  But John’s stared at that glass long enough to get the knack.  At Penny’s look of query, John winks back. 

Charlie’s stuttering, the man of reason trying to de-escalate the situation, as he rises from his seat.  By the time Charlie ‘accidentally’ trips over the escape path lighting and just happens to punch the lead hijacker right in the jaw with a flailing fist, Penny’s through into the cockpit and taking control of this flight.

Safely back on the ground twenty minutes later, hijackers now secure in GDF custody, John sits and watches Jack McArthur take all the credit for the rescue, just as he took the credit on several patents.  He lets his entourage surround him closer than the paramedics as he leads the way off the plane.

John let’s Charlie drop away back into the box he keeps all of his aliases as a slim finger slips out of the cockpit and makes her way up the now-empty aisle.  Her hair glows gold as she takes off her helmet and shakes out her hair.

“We really have to stop meeting like this,” he tells her.

She perches on the armrest opposite him, smiling fondly.  “You know I’m immune to your charms, I know you too well.”

John shrugs and lets the last falsehood fall away, taking the moment to stand and stretch back into his own skin.  Penny glances over her shoulder at the open door.  “Are you on the clock?”

“Unfortunately…” he pauses as her comm chimes, the stylized  _IR_ on her sash glowing like a pulsing heartbeat of light.  “Typhoon season,” she says by way of apology.

John waves her off, already heading for the main door, exhaling as he shakes Charlie out, ready to rejoin his colleagues.  “Dinner Sunday at the Manor?” Penny calls after him.

John swings, not losing any forward momentum even though he was now walking backwards.  “Just promise me no champagne.”

Penny’s laugh is light in the dimly lit cabin.  “Typhoon season,” she reminds him.  “But we do have ice cream.”

“Deal,” he tells her with a casual salute.  By the time his feet swing him around to face forward again, John is gone and Charlie Perkins is who creeps nervously down the airbridge to go flatter an ego enough to find out why McArthur brand heart pumps were killing people.


End file.
